


Past Ashes, Present Tears

by peculiva



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Angst, Canon-compliant (at least at this point I suppose), Gap Filler, Hurt Ian Gallagher, Hurt Mickey Milkovich, Hurt/Comfort, Ian Gallagher Loves Mickey Milkovich, M/M, Memories, Mentioned Frank Gallagher, Mentioned Terry Milkovich, Missing Scene, Spoilers for 11x08
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-22 18:34:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30042960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peculiva/pseuds/peculiva
Summary: At some point during the removal of the body, Mickey shut the gates, bolted them close with beams of steel and now Ian’s sitting here, feeling like the lost kid he was at fifteen, and he took Mickey’s shirt off only to find his whole back fucking purple.An interlude during and after 11x08.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 19
Kudos: 174





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I had to go and write this right after watching 11x08, simply because I needed to make sense of the fact that Ian was at the hospital without Mickey, right after Terry died. 
> 
> This was written in the rush of having to get out some thoughts and I’m not sure how I feel about it, also since English is not my first language there are mistakes bound to happen, apologies in advance.
> 
> Also, happy belated birthday to my fav, Noel Fisher :)

Mickey is quiet. The coroner comes and retrieves the body in a quick and orderly manner. One of the cops who also arrived asks some questions that Mickey answers in a calm and steady voice.

He sounds robotic, telling the cop they were out working and found his dad when they came here, choked with this transparent plastic bag that is still over his face.

They actually have an alibi, a solid one since they are on some fucking security cameras on the other side of the city at the time the coroner says the death must have occurred.

Mickey doesn’t lose a word about the nun nurse and Ian doesn’t plan on clueing any of the officials in, either.

After the police and the coroner are gone and Terry’s body with them, they find themselves in a cluttered dirty living room in complete silence. It’s surreal to say the least.

Where Terry’s presence used to fill the whole house with a sense of dread, even in his pathetic state, all there is left now is two strings of yellow tape marked CRIME SCENE on the grimy carpet next to the sofa, and a half-empty bowl of stew on the couch table.

Ian has no idea where the rest of Mickey’s family has fucked off to, probably hid away like rats once they saw the flashing lights of the cruisers approaching. Most of them have avoided the place anyway ever since Terry came back from the hospital.

He feels his phone buzzing in his pocket but ignores it. Whoever it is can wait, he’s got something more important to do.

He goes to the kitchen and rifles through the drawers until he finds a halfway clean glass and fills it with tap water.

Mickey pushes it away when Ian tries to hand it to him. “I’m good.”

He’s obviously not but Ian doesn’t call him out on it, just puts the glass onto the couch table and crouches down in front of where Mickey’s slumped on the sofa.

He won’t meet Ian’s eyes, looking at his hands that are fumbling with the hems of his sleeves, ripping at a loose thread there.

It’s not at all how it used to be, if anything it should be the complete opposite right now, except it’s like they’re back to eight years ago, when Terry was still up and walking, making every day of Mickey’s existence a living hell.

At some point during the removal of the body, Mickey shut the gates, bolted them close with beams of steel and now Ian’s sitting here, feeling like the lost kid he was at fifteen, and he took Mickey’s shirt off only to find his whole back fucking purple.

His first instinct is to push, it always is, and often it works even if it takes a while but over the past ten years, he’s learned to read the guy in front of him like no one else so all he does is put his hands on Mickey’s thighs, splayed out and pale against the camouflage fabric.

Mickey’s whole body is rigid, it’s obvious just by looking at him, shoulders inched upwards, fingers cramping around that damn thread, curling in on himself. He’s still looking down and all Ian wants to do is press his lips to Mickey’s temple, wrap his arms around him and hold him close.

He doesn’t.

Mickey’s legs are tense as a taut wire, ready to bolt at any second. He’ll leave if Ian comes too close right now, he’ll hide somewhere, maybe do something stupid like get into a fight. He’s isn’t sure what exactly is running through Mickey’s mind right now, if that is even something you can put into words. Probably not.

His phone vibrates again. Ian barely registers it.

There is one thing he is sure of. They need to do this at Mickey’s pace.

He’ll have to wait it out, no matter how long it takes, no more pushing, pulling, and prodding. Not with this. He’ll be there and he’ll do anything in his power to give Mickey what he needs, even if that means backing off at times.

“Your phone”, Mickey croaks into the space between them when Ian’s phone goes off for the third time in a manner of minutes, the humming sound of the vibration cutting through the stifling cold silence.

“I don’t give a shit.”

He really couldn’t care less right now. Mickey looks deflated, head hanging low, at odds with the strained muscles of his legs Ian can feel through the fabric of his pants.

It’s quiet again except for the continued noise of Ian’s phone, until Mickey moves, fast as a whip, off the couch and forward, nearly knocking Ian over.

His eyes roam around the room, still avoiding Ian’s gaze as he stands up too, and this is so familiar it tugs painfully at Ian’s heart. It’s something he never wanted to see again, Mickey in-full on survival mode, fight-or-flight response. His brows are drawn, and his mouth is twisted, his clenched jaw working like he wants to say something but can’t get the words out.

Ian has seen this look, has seen Mickey’s eyes dart around his surroundings in the desperate attempt to find an outlet. It’s been directed at him countless times in the beginning and seeing it now sends a pang of hurt to his chest that leaves him with tight ribs, sore in a whole other way than punches can achieve.

They have beat about all the fucking odds in the world and yet here they are, right at the start, set back a whole decade all because of this human shit stain that was Mickey’s father.

Ian can’t help himself; he takes a step toward Mickey. He wants to close the distance between them, he wants to shield Mickey from his own mind that is crashing down on him right now. He stops when Mickey steps back, past the couch, now nothing but air between him and the back door.

Ian swallows thickly, around the emotion clogging in his throat, making it hard to breathe. But this is not about him.

“I’ll come and get you in a couple hours. Or right when you call.”

He hates to say it and it comes out all strained and wobbly, but Mickey’s stiff nod is confirmation. He needs space right now, and Ian is willing to give that to him. It’s the least he can do.

_Complicated_ doesn’t even remotely begin to cover the relationship Mickey has with his dad. Ian thinks he partly understands since he’s got an absolute scumbag for a father of his own, though compared to Terry Frank might just be fucking Father of the Year.

Either way, it’s not his place to dig into the mess that is the love Mickey still harbors for his dad, not unless Mickey allows him to. Not before Mickey allows himself to.

Ian hates it when Lip pokes around his feelings regarding Monica, even when he tries to be thoughtful about it. He doesn’t get it, and Ian is not about to do the same to Mickey.

So, when Mickey turns around, still with that awful expression on his face, and leaves through the backdoor, Ian stays behind.

He knows where Mickey will go and there is a sick semblance of comfort in that thought. He’s going to find Mickey in the ruins of the abandoned buildings down south, with an empty magazine and more bullet holes in the walls that already hold so many that were shot at his hands.

He’ll get Tami’s lady car and pick Mickey up; drive home and they’ll do whatever Mickey wants. Eat dinner upstairs or in the kitchen, fuck slow or hard or not at all; talk or remain silent. They’ll make do.

When Mickey’s gone and Ian’s phone goes off again, he picks up. It’s Lip, telling him to come to the hospital, something about Frank.

When he gets there the others are already sitting in the waiting area, filling him in on Frank’s latest fuck-up. Lip throws him a sideways glance at the mention of Terry’s death. Ian mouths _later_ and checks his phone. No messages.

Judging by the looks Lip keeps shooting him, he’s doing a shit job at blinking away his worry.

The revelation of Frank’s diagnosis leaves them more baffled than it should. It’s a surprise really, that it has taken this long, yet somehow it catches all of them off-guard and as Ian sees his dad standing in front of them, looking around with nothing but confusion in his eyes, he can feel the vibrations of gunshots being fired at a broken bottle all the way back in Back of the Yards resonate through his body.

\---

He doesn’t get Tami’s red junker that night. Mickey comes home at ten thirty, wet as a dog thanks to the downpour outside. After a hot shower they both hunker down in their bed, each with a cheese sandwich and a coke. It’s fucking stupid and beyond hypocritical but after hearing about Frank’s state Ian suddenly couldn’t stomach the idea of either of them drinking booze tonight. Mickey doesn’t question it.

He doesn’t say much but at least he’s no longer completely silent. Upon his question what the fuck is up everyone’s ass, Ian clues him in on the events of the night. Mickey listens while he eats his sandwich, face carefully neutral.

He’s been strangely collected since he came back, and Ian doesn’t fully trust it yet but it’s Mickey. Mickey, the strongest person he knows, who always gets back up, no matter how much shit life throws at him.

Mickey shuffles closer on the mattress until their knees are touching and Ian doesn’t know if it’s supposed to give comfort to him or Mickey but he’s grateful for the solid warmth seeping through the layers of clothes between their legs, more grounding than any words could be in this moment.

Frank’s in Ian’s childhood bed, sleeping like a baby after Ian and Carl maneuvered him there.

Ian’s got no qualms about how this is going to end; he’s seen enough on calls at his old job. It’s going to be ugly.

It’s going to be slow and ugly and as Ian lies beside Mickey in bed he comes to a troublesome, grim realization; he’s scared.

When Ian turns onto his side and shifts close, Mickey lets him.

They fall asleep like this, Ian holding Mickey against his chest, pressed together back to front, his arm slung around Mickey’s waist and his hand curled around his husband’s smaller one. He’s never felt safer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea how the whole process with Terry’s dead body would actually go down, probably without cops and any other official parties (I mean there are stills of Ian and Mickey standing in front of some burning boxes) but since we’re not there yet, I decided to go about it this way. Not like that part is the point of the story.  
> Also, let’s pretend Ian’s and Mickey’s parole is over (Idk actually know whether it is) so there might be a slight chance the cops won’t put them in cuffs once they hear what those two fuckers transport for a living. I mean it is technically legal so I’m rolling with that.  
> Oh, and let’s say they parked that ambulance at a safe distance before the officials came in :)
> 
> I could probably write a hundred pages trying to analyze the wreck that is Mickey’s relationship and feelings toward his father and still not cover it, so I consider this an attempt to show the tip of that iceberg.
> 
> I live for feedback, of any kind.  
> Thanks for reading :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What might have happened after 11x08.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kept thinking about the episode so I wrote this instead of sleeping.

When Ian wakes up he's alone. One hand feeling the cool sheets in front of him confirms he's been for a while. One look at the red digits of the alarm on the bedside table tells him it's early, too early even for him to wake up, let alone Mickey. Shit.

He pushes himself up and out of bed, slipping on a pair of sweatpants and a sweater since it's freezing above the sheets, before he makes his way downstairs.

He finds Mickey on the back porch, sitting on the stairs with a cigarette between his fingers. "Mornin'", Ian says, his voice still rough with sleep.

It's six in the morning and the sun is only coming up, casting everything in the twilight that is reserved for these special hours between night and day, when the world slows down for a moment, even on the Southside. He used to go on eight mile runs at this time of the day, he still does sometimes, relishing in the empty streets and quiet, with nothing but the noise of his feet hitting the pavement to clear his mind.

Ian lowers himself next to Mickey, sitting close so they're touching knee to shoulder. Mickey hands him the cigarette without a word, his eyes fixed on the empty space in front of him. 

"Couldn't sleep?", Ian asks after taking a long drag. 

Mickey tilts his head with a humorless twitch of his lips. There are circles under his eyes that are dark enough to remind Ian of the numerous shiners he's seen on Mickey and his bottom lip is nearly bitten raw. He looks as exhausted as Ian feels.

It's pointless to go back to bed for either of them Ian concludes as he finishes off the smoke. He doubts he'd manage to fall asleep right now. 

Last night the impact of the two dad bombs dropped on them made it fairly easy to sleep but now that the initial blow has subsided there's room to truly think about what happened. They don't even have work today which would have been a fucking blessing in order to get some distraction but it's the weekend and they're free all day, left to turn yesterday's events over in their heads until they go nuts.

Mickey's left leg is bouncing, restless with pent-up unease that's built up overnight. He must feel Ian's gaze though because he stops, finally turning his head to look him in the eye. 

"You okay?"

He sounds even hoarser than Ian did, maybe because he barely spoke since they found Terry. That, or he screamed his vocal cords raw when he left for a few hours yesterday.

Ian can feel tears prickling in his eyes at Mickey's question, which makes the answer pretty fucking obvious. He blinks to force them away.

"Not really", he replies because there's no point in lying even though all he wants to do is tell Mickey that yes, he's fine and that he's there for him. He should be, it shouldn't be Mickey asking this question. After all it's Mickey's dad who's dead, Frank's still up being the professional useless lowlife he has been since Ian can remember. 

Except that useless lowlife will be gone too and while Ian hates him with passion there's a part of him that is utterly terrified of the moment Frank Gallagher no longer walks around the house and messes with their lives. Talk about fucked up family bonds. 

There's a tattooed hand touching his knee, thumb rubbing little circles into the side. Ian's heart swells at the contact, at the slight bump of the ring resting against his leg. Mickey can be surprisingly good with words at times, a lot better than he gives himself credit for, but there has always been this. 

Comfort in the shape of a shoulder bump, or an affectionate hand squeezing his neck, knees knocking together, arms sliding around shoulders. Those little touches have embedded themselves into their lives over years, on both ends. It's something they've had long before words came truly into play, reminding them of each other's presence every day. Grounding.

"Let's get something to eat", Mickey says, patting Ian's knee as he stands up. "No point in freezing our asses off moping out here." Ian agrees so he follows Mickey inside into the kitchen which is still delightfully empty thanks to the early hour. 

They end up making pancakes, Mickey swinging the pan while Ian takes care of toppings in the form of a brownish banana he finds in the fruit bowl, maple syrup and a box of slightly squished blueberries he fishes out of the fridge. 

It's weirdly domestic, more so than usual since there's not a bunch of siblings and other relatives running around and yelling at one another. 

Ian thinks of summer mornings down the block when he used to wake up with the sun and then woke Mickey up with his mouth on his neck before they made a mess in the Milkovich kitchen while cooking breakfast that turned out either burnt or too salty because they were busy sticking their tongues down each other's throat. 

Svetlana would chastise them in a sharp voice and then switch to Russian to complain about them to Nika as she wolfed down their eggs. Svetlana wasn't a picky eater, Ian doesn't really know anyone around here who is. 

Other days she would be up first, making her famous puffy eggs and then force Mickey to clean up the kitchen afterwards. 

"Yo, food's ready."

Ian looks up from where he was cutting the banana to find Mickey standing at the table, holding a plate with a stack of steaming pancakes. His hands are nearly hidden by the sleeves of Ian's dark green hoodie he's wearing, the fabric bunching up at his wrists and a few dark strands of hair poking out from under the hood. 

Ian crosses the room in two long strides and dumps the cutting board with the banana on the table before he takes Mickey's face into his hands and presses their mouths together in a long kiss. It's not deep, just their lips touching, slow and gentle. There's the slight stubble on Mickey's jaw against Ian's palms and Mickey's hands, one coming to rest against the small of his back, the other warm on his neck, keeping him steady. 

Yesterday was a shitshow and what lies ahead will be a shitshow but unlike many times before when things got really fucked up he now has the most important person in the world to him as his partner, legally, officially. No matter what.

When they part, Mickey looks a little less weighed down, and the fog filling Ian's mind with hazy memories of Svetlana making breakfast, Frank standing in that hospital asking whether one of them was having another kid, and Terry's lifeless face beneath that plastic bag, gets a little lighter. 

They eat in silence, ankles hooked around each other under the table. As they share the last pancake Mickey speaks, his voice brittle yet determined.

"I'mma head over, take a look around the house. See if there's- I don't know, some shit we can take for our new place." 

Ian doesn't love the idea of Terry's stuff taking up even an inch of their future home but one thought about sitting at this very table and looking through Monica's few belongings a couple years ago keeps him from voicing that concern. He still has her blue plastic lighter and the worn booklet of her issue of Hermann Hesse's Siddhartha so he's not one to talk.

He read the prison library edition during his first stint in prison, when he was manic out of his mind and he'd been on the verge of throwing away his more or less inherited version several times once he got back on track but he never did. It's sitting in a drawer in their room upstairs and he'd be lying if he said it won't make it to their new place, wherever that's going to be.

"You okay with me tagging along?"

Mickey's nod is immediate. He keeps rubbing his brow, a habit so familiar by now Ian can't imagine him without it. His thumb scratches over the skin above his left eyebrow, right were the faint lines of a scar mark a day Ian would give anything for to forget, to make Mickey able to forget. 

He doubts Mickey realizes he's doing it, raising his hand to touch the spot where Terry marked his property with the handle of a gun. Ian's stomach churns.

They haven't even touched on that day, not ever, not really. He remembers a few half-hearted attempts on his part during that special summer and another one in the confines of cell A20 last year. 

Mickey shut him down right away, changed the topic or took off. One time, on a particularly hot night as they laid on the bed, sweaty and tired with a sleeping Yevgeny between them, Mickey straight out told him he didn't want to talk about it, end of discussion. His voice had been barely more than a whisper but it broke anyway and Ian didn't bring it up again until years later when they were crammed into Mickey's bunk in their tiny cell and had found themselves discussing some old wounds. 

Mickey said the same thing again.  _ I don't want to talk about it _ , only this time Ian knew the translation.  _ I can't talk about it. _

On the rare occasions Mickey speaks about his father and the things he did to him, it's always  _ My dad tried to kill us, my dad beat the shit out of me on the regular, my dad stole our Halloween candy. My dad shipped us off to the system for a year to run his drug business. _ Mickey doesn't talk about foster care, either.

Mickey doesn't say  _ My mom overdosed while I was in juvie _ . In fact, Mickey has never mentioned his mom once, not even when they talked about Monica. What little Ian knows about her he knows from Mandy. Like how her and Mickey both got the dark hair from their mother and how life was a little bit better when she was still there and upright, before she spent most of her time with a needle in her arm. How being around Terry was a little less dangerous.

  
  


They get dressed upstairs and brush their teeth as silently as possible so they don't wake up Franny. Debbie would kill them.

Once they're done they go back to their room to get their phones and jackets. It's seven by now and when Mickey looks at his phone a frown appears on his face. 

"What is it?" Ian wants to know. He can't deal with more unexpected news right now. 

Mickey sits down on the bed, tapping on the screen of his phone. 

"Cops. I'm supposed to call them back." He brings the phone to his ear, now rubbing at his lip instead of his brow while he waits for the police department to pick up. 

Ian slumps down next to him but the sound is too quiet to listen in on the conversation. Mickey doesn't say much, it's probably the cops telling him what they know about the circumstances of Terry's death so far. 

Basically nothing Mickey fills him in once he's finished, pocketing his phone. Not like they're putting much effort into finding out who did it, neither of them has any illusions on that front.

"They call it murder for fucking obvious reasons but they have no idea who could've done it. No fingerprints whatsoever, that nun obviously knew what she was doing." It makes Ian shudder. 

Said nun is god knows where, maybe killing the next patient because they don't float her boat right this very moment. 

"Maybe we should say something", he says, watching Mickey's eyebrows go up. "Who knows who's next."

Mickey doesn't respond right away, biting his lip in contemplation. "She did do the world a favor when she ended that piece of shit."

"Yeah, but what about you?"

Mickey's face crumples. The laboriously crafted facade falling and giving way to something raw, driving a wrench into Ian's heart as he watches Mickey's remaining walls collapse like a house of cards.

His eyes are shiny with unshed tears and his bottom lip is trembling until he presses his mouth into a straight line, rapidly blinking as he looks up at the ceiling, absolutely fucking helpless. 

Ian wants to smash something, preferably Terry's head, still alive and bleeding as Ian drives a fist to his face, again and again. He's done that, until Kev pulled him off, right before the cops arrived at the Alibi. 

He would do it again. Beat him to pulp but keep him alive, to make him pay for what he did to all of his kids, to Mandy, to Mickey. He would get Terry to regret it, he would keep it up until that bastard would feel fucking sorry.

"He said I might have been a half-decent son if I wasn't a fag." Ian barely hears it, it's so quiet. 

He wraps his arm around Mickey and pulls him close, hand running through his hair. Mickey looks shattered but his cheeks are still dry and he seems like he's regaining some control on his expressions, his brows slightly furrowing like he's trying to figure out what that means. Ian doesn't know what to tell him. 

Terry's paltry attempt to redeem even a shred of his actions not only backfired, it was also completely and utterly unexpected. Which is what makes it so fucking dangerous. 

Ian's next words are out before he even fully registers they come to his mind but as he speaks he realizes they're nothing but the truth.

"Mick, sometimes I think you got a heart too big for your own good." 

Those words hold more than the reference to Terry receiving love he doesn't deserve but Ian doubts Mickey's able to process that right now. That's a conversation for a different day.

When he tilts his head to look at Mickey, he finds the faintest hint of a smile on his face and an air of mischief within the storm in his eyes. 

"Man, that's fucking stupid", he says with a slight snort and Ian might have been mad at him for brushing the brutal honesty behind his words off so easily, if he wasn't so relieved seeing Mickey cheering up a bit. His eyes are still a little red around the edges but Mickey's tears have yet to fall. They will, another time.

"I mean it though", Ian insists because he does, even though he has no misgivings about Mickey's struggles to see himself that way. In the end it doesn't really matter because Ian knows. He's learned what it means to be in Mickey's heart and he's sworn to himself to never take this privilege lightly again.

He pulls Mickey even closer to his side and buries his nose in Mickey's hair, planting a kiss on the top of his head. 

They stay like this for a few minutes until Mickey starts squirming and Ian lets go of him. They're not over this yet, it's unlikely they ever fully will be but Mickey looks a great deal better than a moment ago so Ian will gladly take it.

"Don't really feel like going back there right now", Mickey admits at last, biting at the inside of his cheek.

"How about a day worth of shitty action movies and pizza bagels", Ian suggests, feeling the corners of his mouth go up at the sight of Mickey's smile, slightly askew but undoubtedly a smile.

"I'll beat your lanky ass at Mortal Combat", he promises, which earns him a slight jab into the side with Ian's lanky elbow. "You wish."

They occupy the couch in the living room right before the others begin to wake up, hogging their spot all day, much to Carl's chagrin. At some point they allow Liam and Franny to join them, both his brother and his niece weirded out by Frank who keeps moving around the whole downstairs area, either talking randomly to himself or trying to start conversations with anyone he bumps into. They all die down in a matter of seconds because he can't hold up a single train of thoughts. 

The doctor said there will be good days and bad days. Today is definitely a bad day.

Ian keeps his gaze between the TV screen and Mickey, which mostly works to drown out Frank's mumbling in the background. 

Lip and Tami drop by for lunch and Carl and Debbie squabble at the dining table playing poker. It's some sort of family day and overall it feels like a much needed break. A little time-out to take a breath, regain footing before diving back into chaos.

When they're all sitting in the kitchen, feasting on the take out food Lip and Tami brought over, Frank has a small breakthrough, managing a full speech about the societal mishaps concerning 'invaluable basic liberties' before he trails off. 

It's related to the pandemic, though strangely enough he goes off about how the lockdown especially affects the younger generations. There's a good chance he's saying that shit because he's incapable of the acceptance that his golden years are over rather than actual concern for his kids but they toast on it anyway. 

Frank actually looks around with a somewhat fond expression as they raise their glasses and beer bottles and maybe, just maybe in his booze-corroded brain there is a small part of him that might hold some sort of interest about all of them. Interest that goes beyond their value as money makers.

Ian remembers Frank telling him about how men have always had men and then proceeded to list off famous guys who'd done it with other guys. 

Frank didn't give a shit, in any way, neither whether Ian liked to fuck dudes, nor if he was alive and breathing. 

In some way that wasn't so bad. Once he grew tall enough Frank got too afraid to hit him for looking too much like Monica, he left Ian mostly be. Except that time he sniffed cash when Ian went off his rocker as Gay Jesus. 

Lip and Frank were always closer, which didn't end well for his brother. His younger siblings weren't spared either and unlike Lip, Fiona and him, they had been young enough to succumb when Frank displayed even the tiniest amount of care for them. Hell, Debbie named her daughter after him, a decision Ian will never understand but then again, where out of all of his siblings he was the most distant from Frank, he was also the closest to their mom. 

She didn't care either, not beyond her next high and yet here he is unable to fully let go of her, even today. 

Maybe not so different from what Mickey carries in his heart for his dad.

Unlike Frank, Terry cared. Not if his children had something to eat, or went to school but about how much money they brought home from a day working the corner, how many times they hit the target placed under the bridge of the L.

And where Frank changed his political agenda as he pleased, twisting it however it fit his current needs, Terry's stance was solid. 

He cared a lot when he found out his son was gay. Ian's grip tightens on his fork at the thought. 

_ Cared  _ is probably the wrong word.

Tomorrow they'll go next door and sort through the ruins of Mickey's family.  _ Their  _ family in a way. At some point during the next weeks or months they'll probably have to get Frank to the hospital and one day he might not come back. Or he'll die at home, if this house is still their home then. 

He feels the bump of a knee against his own and Mickey's leg lingers, settling next to his. 

\---

Mickey ends up wiping the floor with Ian at Mortal Combat, much to Franny's and Liam's amusement. 

"I hate you", he tells Mickey and throws the controller into the ratty armchair in the corner. 

"No you don't!", Franny exclaims, "You love Uncle Mickey!" 

She looks at him pointedly until Ian relents, pressing a kiss to Mickey's cheek. When he pulls away there is an open smile on Mickey's face, the kind that is still too rare and that completes something within him. 

They're gonna be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As for the nun, I wouldn't be surprised if she did this kind of thing on the regular which is actually terrifying so I wanted Ian to at least have some thoughts on that. Considering Mickey's state though, I forgive him for forgetting about her.
> 
> Also, this is me trying to make sense of the fact neither Svetlana nor Yevgeny are mentioned these days. I would kill for a storyline involving them but I'm pretty sure that's not gonna happen.  
> However, rewatching season 4 and 5 I was reminded that Yevgeny was indeed a not so little part of Ian's and Mickey's life and there were even hints at a slight development in Mickey's feelings toward his son.  
> So yeah, my headcanon will be that they do get back in contact with Svetlana after the show ends. For now I'm going with this approach so it might stay canon-compliant.
> 
> Just in case that wasn't clear, when Ian thinks of 'a conversation for another day' he means that Mickey basically did everything in his power for Ian on many occasions.
> 
> Personally I think both Ian and Mickey consider the summer of season 5 a somewhat (for lack of a better word) magical one, despite Ian being manic and all the shit that happened. For a while they had a little family and they were fucking happy (yes, Ian was cheating on Mickey but my headcanon is he didn't start with that until 5x01 and that episode does pick up in the middle of the summer so from the end of s4 to the beginning of s5 there are months during which they obviously built this fragile family and I loved it).
> 
> The ending is kinda cheesy, I blame that on the fact it's nearly five in the morning and I haven't slept yet because I needed to write this story down.  
> I'm incredibly grateful for any kind of feedback so please, feel free to drop your thoughts!


End file.
